Epiphanies

Epiphanies Sold Separately

January 29, 2018

Photo by Tj Holowaychuk on Unsplash

Recently I read a blog post that I really liked. I liked it so much, that I immediately wanted to use the same format to write one of my own. It started with an epiphany, and went on give an example from the author’s life of how she grew to understand the epiphany.

As I sat in my office rocking chair, pen and paper in hand, I wondered, “Why can’t I think of any epiphanies and great stories like this to share with my readers?” I mulled it over for a while, and there it was…an epiphany about epiphanies (how many times can I write “epiphany” in one post?!):

You can’t force epiphanies.

They come when they come. So much as I would love to have new and brilliant epiphanies to share with you every week, I just…don’t.

Perhaps this is an indicator to me that I need some well-filling—an artist’s date, a mini-break. Noodling time has been scarce for me lately, and I’m feeling the effects. And after all, it is winter. Winter is a time for introspection, staying warm, allowing some dormancy so that spring can bring new growth. A time for gathering thoughts and seeking inspiration.

When searching for life lessons (you thought I was going to write epiphanies, didn’t you?), all you can do is open your mind and heart to what’s around you. Have a humble and teachable attitude. Try not to be oblivious. And even if you do all these things, you may still come out with nothing.

Epiphanies sold separately.

That’s OK—they’re still there, and you’ll—we’ll—find them in due time. At least, that’s what I believe.

Have you had any epiphanies lately?

Epiphanies

After the Rain

March 02, 2010


I woke up to the delicious, patter-y sound of rain this morning—half an hour before my alarm was set to go off. Instead of feeling cheated of that last half hour of sleep, I curled up under my warm covers and listened to the sounds of raindrops falling on our roof and shrubs, and the distant booming of thunder. I imagined my tomato plants, purchased yesterday, drinking up the rainwater, and the purple and orange violas that were an impulse buy, lifting their tiny faces to the drops. I wished that my orchids were out in the rain, but they’ve been hanging out inside recently because of the cold (pampered creatures). I imagined our frost-bitten grass and all the recently-pruned landscape plants thirstily drinking in the rain. Rainwater seems like it would be so much tastier to plants than our city water is—I can’t drink the water from the tap without filtering it first!


Now the rain has stopped, but the wind has picked up. Our oak trees’ beards of Spanish moss flutter in the breeze. Pollen counts have been really high recently, driving the allergic among us (including our dog) into fits, and the rain has washed the yellow pollen off driveways and mailboxes.


The air is bright and clean today—and I feel the same. Yesterday was a difficult day. But instead of flying off the handle emotionally, I allowed myself to feel my emotions without stifling them, to realize that the issues in question were not necessarily my issues, and that I didn’t have to take on the burdens other people were bearing. I have my own burdens, of course, but they’re wearing lightly on me at the moment. It’s OK for me to enjoy my life, to find fulfillment and satisfaction in my work and play. I can let the rain and storm go on around me while I stay cozy beneath my covers. After the rain, the natural world emerges renewed—and so can I.

Epiphanies

Would You Like Some Queso Dip With Your Epiphany?

February 08, 2010

Today while I was folding one of the 15 trillion loads of laundry I do every week, I reflected on the very pleasant weekend we just had. My mother-in-law was with us for a visit, and we watched movies and talked and generally carried on with ice cream and scotch and wine, each to her own. She’s my surrogate mom while my own mom is so very far away in California, and I’m grateful to have her only an hour away.

On Sunday, we watched the Super Bowl—and found ourselves invaded. It’s been a tradition this football season to make queso dip for consumption during football games, and it’s also become a tradition for our son’s friends to come over on Sunday and scarf it down. (My husband and I are lucky to get 10 chips between us—but that’s OK. We don’t really need them anyway.) This Sunday was no different. We made the queso, and added a slow cooker full of Little Smokies in BBQ sauce, and suddenly we had a party. At one point, we had five teenage boys in the kitchen, and two of them brought snacks! Somehow, our son had managed to arrange his very own Super Bowl party. Larry’s mom leaned over to me and said, “You’ll really miss this when he’s gone.” I looked back at her, a little wild-eyed, and realized that I will. Despite the chaos and noise and incredible amount of food consumption (and the Sprite can in the palm tree), I will miss those boys. They’re good kids, they have a lot of fun together, and they are growing up fast. Soon they’ll be off to college and jobs and life.

Sunday afternoons will be awfully quiet.